The Girls of St. Wode's. Meade L. T.

who was gradually getting herself more and more into the good woman’s confidence.

      “My dear Lettie,” she said, “I would honestly pay twenty pounds to any hansom-driver to let his horse fall between here and Mrs. Acheson’s in order to give Belle a wrench of the arm or a twist of the wrist, or something which would give her sufficient pain to send her home again.”

      “Then, as those are your very heathenish wishes, Aunt Helen, you may be quite certain that Belle will arrive in perfect health, without any accident, not in a hansom, but in that two-horse conveyance which is meant for the convenience of the poorer people of London.”

      Mrs. Chetwynd sighed.

      “I beseech of you, dear,” she said, “not to leave the children alone with that pernicious girl. Stay in the room yourself. When you perceive that the conversation is getting into dangerous channels, turn it, my dear child. Now, remember, Lettie, I trust you. Everything depends on your discretion.”

      “I will do what I can, of course, Aunt Helen; but I must frankly admit that I shall have very little influence.”

      “I only wish Providence had made you one of my daughters. If you and Marjorie, for instance, had been my daughters, and Eileen had been you, then things might have been quite pleasant, for you would have influenced Marjorie and brought her back again into the right ways. As it is, however – ”

      “As it is, we must make the best of things,” said Letitia.

      There came a ring at the hall-door, and Mrs. Acheson and the redoubtable Belle were ushered in. Mrs. Acheson, in her usual somewhat diffident manner, kissed Mrs. Chetwynd, and then Belle flew up to her and gave her a little peck on her cheek.

      “How do?” she cried. “Where are the girls? I am most anxious to see them at once. Pray, don’t ring; I’ll run up to them. I know the old schoolroom. I have a great deal to say. You know I go up again next week, and can think of nothing else. But I determined that whoever else was left in the cold, I must interview Marjorie and Eileen. Mother, have you got my small Virgil in your bag? I am writing a paper on that great man, and I wish to read it to the girls in order to get their opinion.”

      “They know nothing whatever about the classics,” interrupted Mrs. Chetwynd. “I believe they are going out for a walk; would you like to go with them?”

      “I don’t think we shall have time for that,” replied Belle. “I’ll find them; don’t you trouble.”

      She nodded to Mrs. Chetwynd and to her mother in a friendly, offhand style, and left the room. Mrs. Chetwynd glanced at Letitia, of whom Belle had not taken the slightest notice, and the young girl followed the eccentric, scholarly undergraduate of St. Wode’s upstairs.

      Marjorie and Eileen had an old-fashioned schoolroom at the top of the house, They had cleaned it out themselves, and put it into order according to their individual tastes. It was now neat and bare. Marjorie, still wearing her shabby serge dress, was standing near an open window. She was holding a long, yellow canary on her finger, and whistling to the bird, who pecked at her in happy confidence.

      Eileen was putting some pins into a great rent in her petticoat. The door was burst open, and Belle rushed in.

      “How do, dears, both?” she said in a friendly voice. “Pray don’t rush at me and devour me with kisses; we never go on in that way at North Hall. My dear Marjorie, how you have grown! Oh! I am pleased to see you in that plain serge dress; and Eileen – petticoat out of order? Never mind – here, this pin will set it finally right.”

      “Do stop for a moment, Belle. Of course I am delighted to see you,” said Marjorie, “but I must put Daffodil back into his cage.”

      She crossed the room, still holding the bird on her finger, opened the door of his cage, and let him fly in. She then shut the cage-door and came back to where her friend was standing.

      “I didn’t know you wore spectacles, Belle,” she said.

      “Yes, dear, my sight is bad. I have been to Wiesbaden to the celebrated oculist, and he has ordered these special glasses. I have astigmatism in one eye, and have therefore to wear special spectacles. By the way, Marjorie, you look as if you ought to be short-sighted.”

      “Ought to be short-sighted?” said Marjorie. “I am not; I have excellent sight.”

      “You ought to be,” repeated Belle; “it gives one a distinguished look. In all probability you will be very short-sighted when you come to college. Most scholarly girls – I see by the shape of your brow that you are meant to be scholarly – are obliged to wear spectacles.”

      “When I come to college!” replied Marjorie, “and I am supposed to be a scholarly girl. Delightful! And yet I am not sure that I wish to be scholarly; but what a dear delicious creature you are, Belle! Sit down; do sit down.”

      “Thanks,” said Belle. She squatted down on a wooden bench in an ungainly fashion, crossing one leg over the other.

      Letitia now advanced; she had been standing near the door.

      “Who is that young person?” said Belle, raising her very short-sighted eyes, and staring hard at Lettie.

      “You know quite well who I am,” replied Letitia. “I am the cousin who has always lived with the twins. We are all three eighteen, and we are coming out in about a week or a fortnight.”

      “We are not coming out,” said Eileen.

      “Coming out!” cried Marjorie. “Now, Lettie, for goodness’ sake, don’t be silly. You know that unpleasant matter has been arranged. Perhaps you would like to go down to the drawing-room to mother and Mrs. Acheson. Eileen and I have a great deal to say to Belle.”

      “No, I mean to stay and listen,” replied Lettie. “I may have a good deal to say to Belle on my own account.”

      “Stay, if you wish to,” said Belle; “but I don’t suppose for a moment our conversation will interest you. You are fashionable; and that is quite enough. – Marjorie, what is it you have to say?”

      “I want to ask you all about your life, dear,” said Marjorie. “Eileen and I have left school. We have come home, and mother wishes us to go into society – poor, dear little mother, the best of souls; but we are not going to allow her to order our lives.”

      “Certainly not,” said Eileen, “we are going to take our lives into our own hands, and we wish to consult you about the matter, Belle. You are – where did you say?”

      “At St. Wode’s College, Wingfield, the place in all England where women who wish to distinguish themselves ought to receive training.”

      “Then, would you recommend us to come to St. Wode’s College?” asked Eileen.

      “That I cannot say; but I will tell you about it if you like. By the way, I wish that young person – I beg her pardon – ”

      “Letitia is my name,” said Lettie.

      “I wish Letitia would sit so that I need not see that fashionable arrangement of her hair – it irritates me terribly. Why should people waste time in fluffing and crimping their hair. It not only ruins the hair and ages the appearance, but, what is of much more consequence, it causes the unhappy victim to commit a sin – yes, a sin. It wastes time, and oh, time is so precious! I feel this more and more the longer I live. Each precious, valuable moment has to be accounted for. The brain is master of the body. To enlarge the brain, to cultivate the – ”

      “Hear! hear! This is as good as a lecture,” said Eileen. “Go on, please, Belle; you are just the same dear, odd, delightful girl you always were.”

      “Whether I am delightful or not, it is very rude of you to interrupt me,” said Belle, frowning. She had no sense of humor, and could see no fun in Eileen’s remark.

      “I will tell you both about the college if you really wish to learn,” she continued; “but I must not stay here long to-day, for I have too much to do. Mother mentioned that you had come back from school, and that your mother intended to take you at once into that whirlpool of frivolity which is